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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26102395">We the Deadbeat Pleiades</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlairRabbit/pseuds/BlairRabbit'>BlairRabbit</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Cyborg adjacent, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Mentions of Abuse, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier has trust issues, Science Fiction, The Losers Club Are Good Friends (IT), soft slow burn, world building focus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:47:12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,106</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26102395</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlairRabbit/pseuds/BlairRabbit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Derry is a shitty space-station with a thousand dark secrets. Eddie Kaspbrak is a frustrated man with secrets of his own. His friends are ready to get the hell out of Derry and for that they need a plan and a spaceship. So far they have about half of each. As he struggles to do his part to escape Eddie comes face to face with a mistreated Sympathetic, a type of organic ship/station component, named Richie Tozier. Things become a different sort of complicated after that.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>We the Deadbeat Pleiades</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>      Spaceships, Eddie decided, had a very distinctive and unpalatable smell.</p><p>     Space stations even more so. Derry had to be the one of the worst smelling places in the entire universe. Of course, it was just possible that Eddie was bias. After all, the smell of the thing you hate most will probably automatically become a bad smell just because you hate it. The sweetest perfume on a person you hate most is going to become, at least to you, at bad smell. Correlation leading to causation or some shit.</p><p>     Correlation be damned, Eddie was fairly certain that Derry just smelled like shit.</p><p>     Derry smelled like a <em>fat pile</em> of shit.</p><p>     Eddie Kaspbrak hadn’t been on a lot of spaceships and even fewer space-stations, but he had been on enough to know Derry stank. It stank like calcified mineral deposits stuck inside corroded pipes. It stank like old air recycled one too many times through rotting plastic.</p><p>      No matter which part of the ship you were on there was always some hint of it. That very Derry smell of rust and damp and dark places that haven’t felt the touch of artificial light in decades.</p><p>     Eddie had grown up on Derry Station, lived nearly twenty-five, not-quite-consecutive years of his bland, misspent life in the yellowing corridors. His childhood home was still sitting empty and overgrown in the huge residential dome on the stations topside. One would think he would eventually go nose-blind to that godforsaken smell.</p><p>     Nah, no such luck Eddie. No such luck.</p><p>     “Ed-Eddie you w-wuh-with me?”</p><p>      Big Bill Denbrough stared at Eddie worriedly from the end of the green-tinted hallway. His face was drawn and pale in the glow of the sickly, vomit-colored emergency lights. In the quiet maintenance wing emergency lights seemed like a misnomer. Eddie considered himself a bit of an expert when it came to emergencies and there were currently none in progress in the narrow sub-basement corridor.</p><p>     The overhead fluorescents flickered intermittently, communicating in their own silent morse code, on the cusp of complete blackout. Maybe being stuck in the dark counted as an emergency, maybe that’s why the lights never went out. A continuous cycle of cause and prevention; that sounded about right.</p><p>    “Oh yeah, I’m right behind you Bill. Lead…Lead on!”</p><p>     Eddie hated how shrill and squeaky his voice came out. How obviously scared he sounded. He hated that his friends, as a whole, had collectively decided he needed to come on this particular mission. He understood their reasoning, oh yeah, he <em>got</em> it, but that didn’t mean he had to <em>like</em> it.</p><p>      Along with being forced down into the deep, most unsavory parts of Derry’s steam-belching catacombs, Eddie’s nomination was a reminder of what he was. No matter how well he fit into the puzzle that was Derry’s Loser’s club he was still, at his core, different than them. He was a lesser entity personality-wise and, no matter how you sliced it, less of a human.</p><p>     He was less human under the law and less human as an organic organism.</p><p>     Bill stared at him apprehensively and seemed to read his thoughts; he was so damn good at that.</p><p>     “It’s guh-gonna be ok E-Eddie. All muh-my contacts s-say this guy is one of the buh-better Sympathetic d-duh-dealers. T-thu-they said he was an ah-asshole but h-honest.”</p><p>     The empty words did nothing to make Eddie feel better. But, in Bill’s defense, there really wasn’t anything he could say that would make Eddie feel better about dealing with a Sym slaver. Well, slaver was Eddie’s term. The greater population didn’t consider Sympathetics people so calling them slaves was a laughable concept.</p><p>     Derry, a tiny, rinky-dink station in most ways, was pretty famous for its disproportionately large number of Sympathetic shops and dealers. Eddie had never been to an actual Sym store. Given his, uh, <em>familiarity</em> with the plight of Sympathetics, being cajoled by his so called friends into entering one was frazzling his already frayed-thin nerves.</p><p>     Bill knew it too. He knew Eddie didn’t want to be here. Fuck, they all knew, and they made him come anyway. Some friends, some great goddamn friends. See if Eddie ever helped a single one of them again. Mike could prattle on all day about how Eddie was the only one who could make a decent cup of coffee on the Loser’s shitty old F10-Synthesizer, he wouldn’t make that traitor a cup ever again…at least not for a month.</p><p>     Sticking close to Bill, Eddie spared a sideways glance at the grime-covered pipes over their heads and the slime-caked floor under their feet. He had purposefully worn some of his oldest, rattiest clothes and he had a sinking feeling he was gonna have to call them a loss by the end of the day.</p><p>     Bill paused in front of a bright red door at the end of the hall. There was no sign but the words “Motton’s Helpful Sympathetics” was written sloppily on the door in off-white paint. Bill reached for the handle, hesitated and drew his fingers away like the metal was hot to the touch. He glanced back at Eddie again and for a single heartbeat Big Bill looked uncharacteristically worried under the scruff of his five ‘o clock shadow.</p><p>     “J-ust, stay cuh-cuh-close. L-Leh’s rescue s-some-somebody. O-older, lu-like we t-tuh-talked about. Ruh-Right?”</p><p>     Eddie nodded and bit his lower lip.</p><p>     “Full steam ahead Captain.”</p><p>      He felt the little ripples of skin between his eyebrows bunch up. His Mother had called them his “worry lines.” She always had to have cutesy phrase for most things related to Eddie, her “widdle Eddie-Bear.”</p><p>     To say Eddie’s mom was overbearing was a bit of an understatement. It was like saying water was wet or space was big. She was domineering, loud and paranoid. The Kaspbrak family was important in ship politics, or at least they had been at some point. Sonia had married Frank Kaspbrak, a high-ranking commander liaison, who won his position mostly unopposed until he died young and left Sonia childless.</p><p>   Well, biologically childless. Sonia had done such a good job covering her paper-trail everyone in Derry thought Edward Kaspbrak was She and Frank’s real kid. Enough money can get you most anything on a station and the Kaspbrak’s had more than enough to buy an exceptional fake birth certificate.</p><p>     Bill opened the Sym shop door and, despite knowing what was coming, Eddie nearly fell backwards as the first wave of feeling hit him like a sledgehammer. He was drowning in a cold cascade of alien emotions. For what felt like minutes he couldn’t breathe, the air cut from his brain for so long it was probably killing valuable neurons. In the space of five rapid heartbeats Eddie felt fear, sadness, anger, despair and everything in between. </p><p>     Eddie tried to cling to his own thoughts as his knees buckled. He struggled, attempting to push every emotion that wasn’t his into the overflow tank at the back of his mind.</p><p>      Coping steps, he needed to remember the coping steps. Patty had only drilled them into his brain a thousand times. Bev only quizzed him on them every day of his life. Why were they so hard to hold onto now?</p><p>
  <em>     Remember the coping steps Eddie-bear.</em>
</p><p>      Sonia Kaspbrak whispered in her gooey, caramel-sugar voice. Eddie drew in a hiccupping gulp of air. His fingers moved shakily into his jacket pocket and searched for the long, smooth handle of his inhaler. He knew he didn’t really need it. He knew his lungs were perfectly fine, perfectly capable, but…</p><p>     Eddie shoved the end with Inhaler’s metal mouth piece into his mouth and sucked in a comforting puff of its fizzy, placebo medication. Instantly, coping steps be damned, the cold tide-pool of misery sucked backwards, pulling away from Eddie’s brain. He could still sense the Sympathetics at the periphery of his awareness, but they weren’t blocking up the storm drain anymore. There was a brief reprieve from the dark flood drowning Edward Kaspbrak’s sense of self.</p><p>     Eddie realized he must have made a distressed sound; he saw Bill shoot him another worried look. He must have felt guilty. He knew this would happen. In fact, all the Losers were fully aware of Eddie’s…<em>problems</em>. Eddie waved Big Bill off with feigned nonchalance, panting slightly as he took in the front room of the Sympathetic dealership. </p><p>     At the very least it was better lit than the hallway. An eclectic mix of dusty, yellow emergency lanterns and cracked, stained fluorescents had been cobbled together to light the warehouse sized room from end to end. Parts of the space were blocked off by walls of wooden crates, metal panels and the familiar oblong shapes of Sympathetic tubes.</p><p>     It was the tubes that caught Eddie’s attention the most. He hadn’t seen many this close up. He was most familiar with the Loser’s homemade model and the types used in the private homes of wealthy planet-side citizens. The ones here weren’t nearly as fancy or well-maintained but the sight of them didn’t scare Eddie any less. He could feel his heart start to race, knocking hard against his ribcage as he placed one reluctant foot in front of the other.</p><p>       Sympathetics had been in production for decades now.</p><p>      They were a disposable sort of human; pretty on the outside but chock full of junk DNA on the inside. They had started from clone tech and grown out into something else entirely. A Sympathetic was a tool, an expensive one, but one that had become intimately connected to space travel and life on foreign planets.</p><p>     The human body was a strange thing, it needed the right environment, the right temperature and just the right amount of sleep. Everything from light quality, gravity strength and oxygen saturation could make or break a human body.</p><p>     On earth none of these things were a problem, and years of evolution had adapted humans to the planets very distinct environment. It all had to be that precise mix of carbon, oxygen and a whole table’s worth of elements. A sliver too much or too little of something? Body breaks down, permanent brain damage.</p><p>     Syms were really an ingenious solution if Eddie took a step back and looked at the whole situation from a distance. How do you make a machine, an AI, understand acclimation? They might understand that a person needs certain things to live, but only another human can know if the bathwater is too hot; robots don’t have nerve endings.</p><p>     Sympathetics were the answer. You give a spaceship a human nervous system and it can create an environment so damn comfortable it’s like you never left earth at all. Put your synthetic human in a calibrated tube, make sure they have all the right hook-ups and boom. They tell your ship, your station, your house exactly how much oxygen saturation would make your dreams perfect and the gravity level that makes your blood pressure just right.</p><p>     Eddie found himself drawn to the nearest tube. It was empty, the thick rounded synthetic-glass shell of it tinted a candy-apple red. Eddie could hear Bill speaking to someone a few feet away and he turned to see his friend chatting with what he guessed to be the proprietor of “Motton’s Helpful Sympathetics”.</p><p>     He was an older man, late sixties or early seventies, sitting at a long desk and reading a paperback book that must have cost him a small fortune. Paperback books were worth their weight in gold this far out past the horsehead nebula. No doubt that someone who traded in Sympathetics would have the money to spare.</p><p>     Eddie focused back on the tube and slowly, carefully lay his hand on it palm down. The tube was smooth but strangely soft, the texture more like cloth or velvet than glass.</p><p>     Inside the bathroom-stall sized space wires and flexible pipes burst in tight sprays from the walls and ceiling like odd sea anemones. Sympathetics had innumerable ports to match this mess. They had a whole slew of hookups all over their bodies so they plugged in nice and snug.</p><p>      That was the only thing keeping Eddie from the inside of a one of these. He didn’t have ports and plugs, he was passing. His mom had special ordered him to be passing.</p><p>     “E-Eddie! Come on Mr. Cuh-Kingler Is going to suh-show us some models.”</p><p>      Eddie jogged obediently down an aisle of miscellaneous tables piled high with accessories to join the Bill and the old shop owner. He kept one hand in his pocket, fingers worrying the smooth metal of his inhaler like a good luck talisman.</p><p>     As the small group migrated past the threshold of the open entryway, they entered a sort of makeshift showroom and the “voices” of the Sympathetics grew louder. There had to be at least a dozen, probably more in adjacent rooms.</p><p>     It was more than Eddie had ever felt at once.</p><p>     Eddie had always been able to “hear” them, or rather feel them, there were no actual words spoken aloud; whatever you wanted to call it. They, the Sympathetics, were all synched up to each other. It was sort of like being a flesh and blood modem, sharing an empathetic Wi-Fi connection.</p><p>     Syms had been designed with capacity to receive and send information that might help their owners, especially those on large ships who often had several tubed Sympathetics controlling the atmosphere of different areas. Misery loving company and all that. While Full Sym’s could go full telepathic and “speak” to one another mentally, Eddie could only sense emotional biofeedback. Too much of it gave him a mean migraine.</p><p>      “Now, I suppose you be wanting a young one?”</p><p>       The old man running the show, Eddie was sure Bill had called him Mr. Kinglier, spoke in an off-ship accent. He didn’t sound Derry bred, maybe he had been born planet side. New Durham maybe, or the Castle Rock ship some 800 light years south. Eddie thought he had heard people talk about the Castle Rock accent having that odd, musical drawl.</p><p>     “I have a decent range of the popular ones, if that’s what you’re looking for.”</p><p>      Kinglier continued, a digital info-pad in hand. He scanned the bright screen from a very thick pair of out-of-style glasses; probably checking his stock.</p><p>     Eddie felt a cringing wave of fear as the three of them headed towards a glass box the size of a small room. Inside of it sat three identical boys. None of them were touching but Eddie could feel how badly they wanted to hold hands as Kinglier stopped in front of them.</p><p>     The old man tapped at the boxes polished synth-glass front and a long list of numerals, information and specs popped up around the inhabitants inside. Everything you would want to know about them, including their prices.</p><p>     When Eddie realized what model he was looking at, he cleared his throat and reached out to tug violently at Bill’s sleeve, struggling to force the man to turn his head away.</p><p>     “Oh, err, we don’t have the cash for a Denborough mod. Do we Bill?”</p><p>     Big Bill stared his mouth half open. Eddie knew he had seen a Denborough-G Sympathetic before, but it probably never got any easier. Bill’s old man had worked as a designer and engineer for Kitchener Synthetic Works his whole life, right up until his death; he had never officially retired.</p><p>      Many considered his greatest achievement to be the D-G Synthetic line. What many didn’t know was the model base looked exactly like his dead son. It looked just like Bill Denborough’s little brother George, or as he was known to friends and family, Georgie.</p><p>     The Loser’s knew. They knew that and a whole lot more.</p><p>     Eddie knew that even after twenty-seven years in production there were still Georgie models on the market and right now, he was looking at three.  </p><p>     Bill caressed the transparent wall between himself and the picture-perfect reproductions of his dead six-year old brother, a ghost stuck in time, and nodded.</p><p>     “Wuh-way, outside our buh-buh-budget.”</p><p>      Kinglier shrugged.</p><p>     “Well, just figured you were looking for something tried and true. Can’t go wrong with a George and they tend to age well. Not<em> too</em> pricey considering it’s an old mod with new upgrades.”</p><p>     Eddie could feel his blood pressure rising. He didn’t need this; he didn’t need to be reminded of all this shit. Why the hell did he allow the others to convince him to come down here? Seeing that Bill wasn’t going to say anything Eddie spoke and was annoyed when his voice came out strained and ludicrously high-pitched.</p><p>     “Look man, we don’t have a lot in the way of merits. We’re looking for a grown model, kids are out.”</p><p>     With a pronounced sigh and a mighty roll of his colorless eyes Kinglier tapped at his info pad. His woolly, greyish eyebrows moved up and down as he read through scrolling miles of green text.</p><p>     “Only people with deep pockets can speak to me in a snappy tone young man. Mind your manners or ya won’t leave here with no Sym at all. Understand?”</p><p>      Bill seemed to shake himself and managed to tear his eyes away from the Georgie cluster. He gazed unashamedly at Mr. Kinglier and his bushy eyebrows, seemingly reminded of his mission.</p><p>     “Wuh-we guh-got it. Sir. Suh-sorry.”</p><p>     The crisp, sharp fear the Georgie’s put in Eddie’s brain started to subside as he walked away from their box, enclosure -cage. They were probably afraid of being separated and that knowledge haunted Eddie in a way he knew he was going to have to repress quick. He had gotten so good at that, repression.</p><p>     Eddie’s mother Sonia had wanted a baby more than anything, but like so many men born on a station or ship Frank Kaspbrak had been one hundred percent sterile.</p><p>      It wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, but Sonia had made sure nobody knew about it outside of the Sym agency who created Eddie and the AI’s that ran the Derry hospital. The Kaspbrak’s hadn’t even bothered with other options like a sperm donor. Sonia had told Eddie over and over again that she was too delicate to carry a child to term anyway. She said it was really a blessing that she had gotten him instead, that Frank had dead swimmers. Frank Kaspbrak had a limp dick and Sonia Kaspbrak had her perfect miracle baby.</p><p>      They had ordered him under the table, custom made down to his eye color. No outer ports and no serial number, nothing to connect him to the other flesh machines keeping his childhood station comfy and ideal for human life.</p><p>     For obvious reasons, the Kaspbrak’s didn’t keep a personal Sympathetic to help keep their house organized and climate controlled. They fared fine with just Eddie, and the neighbors never suspected a thing.</p><p>     Moving past the Georgies, Eddie immediately felt the emotional turmoil of the next Sympathetic down, a teenaged Ripsom model.</p><p>     She watched Eddie guardedly, her arms crossed across her chest as she paced her display case like a disgruntled jungle cat. The light flickered across the exposed connection ports on the back of her neck as she moved in small, restless circles.</p><p>     The emotions that Eddie got from her were mostly nervousness, apprehension. She didn’t seem like she cared if she got bought or not. She also seemed a bit sad, that overall grey-blue feeling that saturated the thoughts of most Sympathetics.</p><p>     She startled when Eddie caught her gaze and he swallowed hard, freezing in place like a deer in headlights. After a few seconds of unnerving, mutual eye contact Eddie felt his mouth curve into a tight, rigor mortis grin. He held out a hand and gave a stiff wave.</p><p>     She didn’t return it.</p><p>     “Now we got a Corcoran going on a twenty or so. Previous owners wanted something newer. I can let him go for a song. 400k with attachments.”</p><p>     Mr. Kinglier waved towards some distant of the showroom, but Bill just shook his head.</p><p>     “Nuh-no…we’re looking for something chu-cheaper…”</p><p>      Eddie lowered his hand feeling a bit stupid as the Ripsom, the stats on her cube said her name was Betty, turned away from him completely. Eddie trotted after Bill, giving the Ripsom a final apologetic look.</p><p>      Mr. Kinglier was starting to look impatient, frowning at Bill from behind thick bifocals.</p><p>     “Maybe you should just give me a better idea about your price range then, couple a big spenders like you.”</p><p>      Eddie debated if he should help Bill haggle or, barter or…whatever it was you did when you were buying something expensive. He didn’t think about it for long, the answer was a clear no. Bill was more competent than him when it came to, well, just about everything.</p><p>     For the hundredth time that day Eddie thought about how Bill should have brought Mike with him. Intuitive Mike or steadfast Stan or clever Bev or even good ole dependable <em>Ben</em>. Someone braver, smarter and all around better than he was. Oh, and human, there was that.</p><p>      Eddie listened to Big Bill and the old man bicker back and forth about age and model numbers and wandered ahead, further away from the front entrance.</p><p>     A smaller Corcoran model, a Dorsey claimed the stat readout, ignored Eddie as he passed. The Corcoran was placed directly next to a pre-teen Vic-Criss mod in a display tube. The young VC-mod was hooked up to the display system but still conscious. Tucked inside a nest of wires and clear tubing, he gave off wave after wave of glass-smooth boredom and not much else. This was a valid reaction, given that the Vic-Criss was basically in a stasis pod without the benefit of being out-cold.</p><p>     In the later pod designs, the ones that claimed to be more “humane”, Sympathetics were given elective entertainment options. Music or movies could be piped right into the brain when a working Sym experienced their brief moments of semi-lucidity. Most owners didn’t bother unhooking their Syms from their little bubble of homeostasis to stretch the old legs.</p><p>     Eddie realized he was getting pretty far from Bill and was about to turn back when a strange new pulse of emotion grabbed his full attention.</p><p>     It was much different than the beehive emotions of the Syms that Eddie had felt buzzing around him thus far. These emotions felt complex, harder to identify than the loud, simplistic emotions of a younger Sympathetic.</p><p>     Without realizing it Eddie was already walking towards the source, curiosity overriding his usual caution.</p><p>     Brushing past a thin, plastic curtain that hung in between two metal spacers off the edge of the show-room, Eddie found himself in a grimy storage area. Most of the floor space was set aside for empty tube units, but just beyond them Eddie could see the blinking lights of large machinery. Probably specialized equipment for repair work, but beyond the lights-he could feel them…</p><p>     The mystifying new emotions were getting sharper.</p><p>     There was <em>so much</em> to them. On the surface Eddie perceived the familiar sadness, but it wasn’t as focused. It was mixed with biting loneliness and peppered all over with a kind of hatred that confused Eddie.</p><p>      The hatred, borderline disgust, was faint and the best way Eddie could describe it was like a pot of water left to boil on high heat; it simmered. Yeah, simmer, that was the word. It was a <em>simmering</em> hate soup seasoned with depression, apathy and just a hint of heartache.</p><p>     Eddie clenched and unclenched his fists a few times, he thought about taking another puff on his pretend inhaler but managed to hold the urge back.</p><p>     He could see the edge of a bright blue pod just beyond an AI-Basket, a crude little machine with metal arms that helped with basic universal maintenance. The little wheeled robot looked like a metal cube with retractable arms of all descriptions, a Swiss-army knife with a primitive brain.</p><p>     The dumb thing probably wouldn’t squeal on Eddie if he didn’t act out of place. Whatever Sym was putting out these weird vibes as probably in that blue flash of tube and Eddie realized he needed to know what model it was. Some backwards part of his not-quite-human brain <em>demanded </em>it.</p><p>     Passing the Basket as casually as he could, Eddie squeezed between a 3-d printer and a garbage bin twice his height. The bot didn’t give him a second glance but the victory was short lived as Eddie caught the hem of his jacket on a rusty bit of metal. He yelped, his brain immediately accosted by thoughts of tetanus and a hundred related infections.</p><p>     Eddie yanked frantically at his jacket. Fortunately, and unfortunately, it had only just caught by the edge of a side-pocket and came loose with barely an effort. The extra momentum Eddie generated with his manic, hypochondriac strength ended up sending him backwards. Sprawled and spread-eagled directly in front of the blue tube he was trying so hard to reach.</p><p>     The emotional puddle leaking from it flashed with surprise, a yellowish-gold blob of feeling so large that for a moment Eddie was utterly blinded by it. He blinked, reaching up to massage the bridge of his nose as he got his bearings and checked himself for injuries.</p><p>     Rising shakily to his feet Eddie groaned and rubbed at his lower back. He wasn’t hurt, not really, but it had knocked the breath out of him, and he was sure that his body would probably be sore after a night’s sleep. He was pushing forty which was complicated thing for a human and worse for a Sym.</p><p>       The Sym’s gold surprise was replaced by <em>pink-pink-pink</em>. Eddie could feel the emotional resonance all through his brain, fluttering down into his chest and stomach. He had never felt anything like it before. No other Sym encounter had ever echoed inside him so strongly.</p><p>     A familiar gasping, wheezing noise brought Eddie back to himself. He blinked a few times, dumbstruck, mouth hanging open in disbelief as he realized the Sympathetic in the blue tube was<em> laughing</em> at him.</p><p>     Snapping his head up Eddie opened his mouth even wider as he prepared to say something, something rude and possibly insulting. He gave up after a few awkward seconds, dreadfully aware of just how red his cheeks were getting.</p><p>      After a brisk, cursory once-over Eddie gathered that the Sympathetic in the tube was large and outwardly male. He was tall, broad-shouldered and very naked. Eddie felt the blush grow exponentially and turned his back to the tube so fast he could have sworn he sprained something.</p><p>     “It’s not funny! Falling accidents account for nearly sixty percent of fatalities on board a shuttle or station!”</p><p>     A voice answered, deep and, by the tone, spectacularly amused.</p><p>     “Yeah? Good to know.”</p><p>      “And this place is full of rust and dust and God knows what else! You know how easy it would be to get an infection in here??”</p><p>     The emotions, the Sym emotion’s in Eddie’s head felt so warm and genuinely curious. It was disarming. Eddie was very glad that the Sympathetic couldn’t feel him. The connection only went one way, his Mother had made sure he was human in every outward sense which meant he didn’t send out signals like other Sympathetics.</p><p>     The output for signals was in a cervical port at the top of the spine. Eddie didn’t have one of those. He did, however, still have a receiver embedded internally in the skull behind his left ear. It had grown with his skeleton and they hadn’t bothered to remove it when he was a kid.</p><p>     It had caused Eddie nothing but anxiety as long as he could remember.</p><p>     The naked Sympathetic spoke again, voice echoing and muted by the walls of his tube.</p><p>     “Well, not to be difficult but, uh, I don’t think you’re supposed to be back here. Not that I really give a shit but, you know, not my shop.”</p><p>     From the quick peek Eddie got, the Sym wasn’t hooked to into any kind of supports, he wasn’t in a cradle harness or even plugged into an outreach system. He was just, standing there. He was also being really forward for a piece of organic machinery.</p><p>       A good, well-trained, well-made Sympathetic would know better than to talk back.</p><p>     “I’m here shopping! I just- “</p><p>       The Sym clicked his tongue accusingly.</p><p>      “Were you just wandering around in the back? Man, Mr. King-liar won’t like that little man.”</p><p>      Eddie could feel the volcano blush in his cheeks migrating North, down the back of his neck and onwards to break new ground. He was becoming a whole red, tomato like embarrassment singularity.</p><p>    “Don’t call me that! What-why…”</p><p>     Eddie stopped mid-question. Why was he what? Talking back? Naked? Hidden back here?     </p><p>     Really all of these things were none of Eddie’s business and he knew it. The powerful <em>pink</em> feeling from the Sympathetic didn’t fade and he just chuckled inside his blue bug jar.</p><p>     Eddie huffed, and looked back the way he had come. He could see the plastic curtain from where he stood and wondering if he could get Bill’s attention from here. In the few seconds of silence, the Sympathetic’s humorous warmth turned rapidly into black panic.</p><p>     When he spoke again, he sounded weirdly desperate.</p><p>    “Hey, man, I’m sorry I laughed When you fell. I thought you were Hockstedder.”</p><p>     Eddie was so taken aback by the sudden change in the Sym guy’s tone he chanced a peek back at him. This time he noted, with some embarrassment, that the guy wasn’t actually completely naked. He didn’t have a shirt, but he was wearing tight, flesh-colored shorts that ended just above his knees.</p><p>    “Hockstedder? Who the hell is Hockstedder?”</p><p>     Eddie took a few cautious steps towards the blue pod. He felt the little concentration creases between his eyebrows forming.</p><p>      His first impression of the Sympathetic’s height and broad shoulders were correct, but he didn’t fill out either. He was thin, too thin for his size, and Eddie could easily count his protruding ribs. He looked like he was struggling to keep his feet, leaning heavily on the side of the pod for support.</p><p>     He also looked old, around Eddie’s own age, at least forty or so. That was<em> ancient</em> for a Sympathetic.</p><p>     “Hockstedder works for the old man. He’s a prick.”</p><p>     There wasn’t much venom behind the words. It was like the Sympathetic really didn’t have the energy to hate him. This seemed strange, it totally contradicted the earlier emotions that pulled Eddie his direction in the first place.</p><p>     “I thought you were him- “</p><p>      The Sym continued breathlessly.</p><p>     “But I can’t see for shit and, like, I realized you were too small to be him. No offense! You’re just smaller than him.”</p><p>     Eddie’s frown deepened into a scowl when he noticed the Sym squinting at him. The way he tilted his head and squinched his entire face in Eddie’s direction it sure as hell looked like he needed glasses.</p><p>     As Eddie was about to reply, ask the Sym about his eyesight, but he was cut off.</p><p>     A great burst of water blasted from inside the top of the pod and saturated its occupant in a bullet like spray. The Sym screeched like he had been scalded. He tried to move away from the water in a slippery rush, holding his arms around his torso and shrugging his shoulders up against the overhead nozzle.</p><p>      “Mother-<em>FUCKER</em> that’s cold!”</p><p>       Eddie startled, took a step back. The Sym was soaked, body shivering violently as water dripped from his skin. If he was fish-belly pale before he was corpse white now, the water had to have been freezing.</p><p>      A million terrible thoughts stampeded through Eddie’s brain.</p><p>      This Sympathetic was going to get hypothermia, he was going to get sick just standing there in nothing but a pair of beige yoga pants. Was this how they cleaned Syms? Was this a punishment? Why was this happening??</p><p>      The water shut off after what seemed like ages but was, in reality, less than a minute and the Sym let out a gut-wrenching sigh of relief. Raising up a hand palm out Eddie touched the thick synthetic glass of the pod. It was ice-cold to the touch.</p><p>    “Huh-hey Eddie! T-There you are! B-buh-been looking all over for you!”</p><p>     Bill’s familiar stammer drifted over from the edge of the showroom. Eddie spotted him peeking between a display case and the big of plastic curtain. The owner of the shop, Kinglier, was already negotiating his way through the workshop and into the inner storeroom space; he did not look happy to see Eddie there.</p><p>       “Bill I- “</p><p>      Looking from the frozen, half-blind Sym rubbing water from his eyes and back to Bill, Eddie spit out his next sentence with such frantic urgency it felt like he was physically vomiting the words.</p><p>     “Bill, I found the one we want, we want this one right here!”</p><p>       Cringing away from Kinglier’s suspicious stare Eddie scampered to join Bill as the two entered the little back room. The room, which contained no other Syms, was full of empty viewing cubes and a few shelves stuffed with tools and spare parts.</p><p>      Bill took his surroundings in coolly before he examined the Sym Eddie pointed out. There was a brief flash of fury in his eyes, there and gone so quick that only someone who knew him well would have been able to catch it. Eddie caught it and he knew what it meant. Bill had seen something, probably something in the Sympathetics situation, that had pissed him off.</p><p>      “Yu-you said y-uh-yuh you didn’t huh-huh-have any older than tuh-tuh-twenty?”</p><p>        Kinglier gave Eddie a look that could have melted steel and ground his reply out through grit teeth.</p><p>      “Didn’t expect you to go where you weren’t supposed to. And besides, you don’t want this un. This un’s barely much longer for this world. Old, bad eyes, bum heart and worst of all a nasty attitude. We rent em, and that’s all.”</p><p>      For his part the Sym, still trying to warm himself up in his cramped little space, sneered at Kinglier.</p><p>      “Aww, glad you love me boss.”</p><p>       Balling his hand into a fist the old man brought it down on the side of the blue tube and there was a crackle of electricity. The Sympathetic inside went statue still, eyes half-way open and fixated on the middle distance. He had been flicked off like a light switch.</p><p>      “Hey!”</p><p>     Eddie shouted.</p><p>      “There was no need for that! He didn’t do anything!”</p><p>       Eddie felt the Sym’s emotional connection cut off from him like it had been sliced off with a razorblade. The shock riled him up and he felt that oh-so-familiar desire to scream impotently at whatever he perceived was causing the problem.</p><p>     Bill put up a hand for calm and Eddie took the hint. As much as he hated how Big Bill could make him heel like a well-trained dog, he always trusted his reasons.</p><p>       “Wuh-can tuh-tuh-take him off your hands for more than he’s worth I’m s-s-s-suh-sure, Mr. Kinglier. “</p><p>     This gave the old man pause.</p><p>      “He won’t get yah but five more years at most. Temperament aside I meant what I said afore. His hearts bad, real bad. Eyes always been bad but that don’t matter, years is what matter and he don’t got many.”</p><p>     Sympathetics that lived past fifty were considered miracles. Eddie knew that, had known it his whole life. His mother had treated him like a brittle thing since birth, and she claimed that it was necessary given his delicate condition, given what he was.</p><p>    “w-wuh-we like luh-lost causes.”</p><p>     Kinglier crossed his arms impatiently.</p><p>      “Sounds like your giving me the run-around boy. Sounds like you wanna buy some busted old mod with a bum ticker then demand a refund and a discount on something better when it kicks the bucket. Look here son I wasn’t born yesterday, and I don’t fall for sucker deals.”</p><p>       Eddie took a deep breath, puffing himself up like a small animal trying to be intimidating. He knew he came off about as intimidating as a damp sponge.</p><p>      “Look, uh, sir! We just know how hard it is for…for you to get rid of older units. I mean being sued for Sym failure? That’s gotta be a problem, right? People saying your responsible for home accidents is bad but- but, let me tell you we’re looking to do this for charitable reasons right Bill?”</p><p>     Bill, for his part, looked as shocked at the gush of words coming out of Eddie as Eddie felt. A grin spread over his face and he turned smiling blue eyes back to Kinglier.</p><p>     “Ruh-Right. Chu-Charitable reasons.”</p><p>      Eddie put a hand near his mouth and rubbed at his nose nervously as he moved from foot to foot. Kinglier scratched the back of his neck pursed his lips and shrugged.</p><p>     “Fine. Be good to get him outta the shop. He’s a merit trap-I’ll give him to you for 10,000 merits.”</p><p>     Eddie sighed internally in relief, losing the thread of conversation as Bill started to haggle prices with Kinglier in earnest.</p><p>     The Losers had discussed buying a Sym for a while, for a multitude of reasons. They had agreed, unanimously, to buy the oldest Sympathetic possible. Even with that in mind Eddie had never, in his wildest dreams, thought they would find a random rental unit around the same age as himself.</p><p>     Eddie felt lightheaded, probably more from stress than anything physical; he reached for his inhaler anyway. Pulling it out he leaned his back and shoulders up against the blue tube and took a long drag.</p><p>     He could feel his muscles unclench slowly and tried not to think about all the filth and bacteria just lounging around in the back of the Sym dealership. He was going to have to take three scalding hot showers the minute he was back home.</p><p>     As Eddie took a few deep breaths, one of the neglected coping steps, he tried to recall what he knew about rental units.</p><p>     He knew that not everyone could afford their own Sympathetic. Not that everyone needed one, but a household Sym could keep your home secure if the station Sympathetic system went down. They could also tailor a house to its homeowners needs, adjust settings daily and even work as a household AI that managed scheduling and chores. Station and ship Syms were a utility and they didn’t take personal requests.</p><p>      Rental units were probably shit models that couldn’t sell, or-maybe they had multiple owners and had become too old for resale. It didn’t sounds like a great life.</p><p>      Eddie stared up into the frozen Sympathetic’s face. He was scruffy, unshaven and his hair was down past his ears. There were all signs that he hadn’t been granted personal time for hygiene, but he was out of stasis long enough that time took an effect on him.</p><p>       The ramifications of this were unsettling. Was he getting any supplements? Was he getting time under a vitamin D lamp? What about calcium? Sympathetic’s were created to help solve these sorts of health problems, being human in part, there was no way they were immune.</p><p>     “Duh-duh-deal!”</p><p>     Bill’s excited voice drew Eddie’s attention back to the ongoing negotiation still happening in front of him. Big Bill extended an arm and shook the hand of a rather put-out looking Kinglier. The old man pulled back and started to rapidly type something on his info-pad with callused fingertips.</p><p>      “You sure you won’t be needing the tube too? Put an old Sym in a bad tube you probably won’t even get a good three years from em.”</p><p>     “Wuh-we got a gu-guh-ood one.”</p><p>     Bill said confidently, shooting Eddie a triumphant grin. Kinglier didn’t seem convinced, his jaw working as he mumbled something to himself.</p><p>     In truth they did have a tube, or, more accurately they had an SSC, a Sympathetic Stasis Chamber. It was going to be better than anything this yokel had to offer, and Eddie could firmly attest to that. Ben had designed it; Mike had built it and Eddie had made sure It was up to every possible code. </p><p>     Yeah, they had a tube alright. A feat of engineering with bells and whistles that honestly went over Eddie’s head.</p><p>     Kinglier, still looking at his info-pad, sauntered past the blue tube and banged on it again. Eddie skittered away from where he still leaned against the thing, hand to his chest as he sucked in a startled breath. The Sympathetic inside un-froze in an instant, lost his balance on the slick floor and tumbled down in a tangle of long limbs.</p><p>     The Sym coughed, looking around blindly as he struggled to find his feet. He gasped and blinked shaking wet hair from his face like a dog as he shivered.</p><p>      Kinglier spared him a disinterested glance, looking away from his pad to give the Sym a derisive once over.</p><p>     “Good news Tozier. You’ve been bought. No more short shifts for you boy.”</p><p>     When the Sym, Tozier apparently, came out of stasis mode Eddie felt his emotions flip on as well. He looked groggy, disoriented and he felt confused as he looked. He kept rubbing at his eyes and squinting around him as if that would help what Eddie presumed was a serious astigmatism, probably in both eyes.</p><p>     Tozier, a model name Eddie had never heard before, spoke slowly, half-drunk from his brief moment of stasis.</p><p>     “What? Sold?”</p><p>      Humming agreement Kinglier mashed at something on his info pad, beckoning to Bill and Eddie as the tube started to open with a damp hiss of pressurized air.</p><p>    “Couple things. I’m up front about product flaws before all sales are final. That’s just good business.”</p><p>     The old man held up a veiny hand and displayed three fingers: thumb, pointer and middle. He lowered his middle finger, waving his hand so Eddie and Bill could see him counting down.</p><p>     “One, this is a one-of-a-kind model. No other Toziers that I know of, so we got no good guidelines for health problems you might have near the end of his cycle.”</p><p>      As if on cue Tozier gave a hacking cough, thumping his chest with the heel of his palm. Eddie couldn’t help but stare, he was a hairy Sym. Almost furry on the front, that was a weird thing to program into a custom Sympathetic.</p><p>     “Two.”</p><p>     Kinglier continued folding down his pointer finger.</p><p>     “Whenever I rent him out to folks, I get complaints about his attitude. He’s rude, don’t follow orders unless it suits him, and he has a <em>filthy </em>mouth.”</p><p>      At this, incredibly, the Sym, half-falling out of the tube now, started to laugh. It was a giggle really, the Sym they had just bought was giggling like a little kid who had just heard a fart for the first time. It was a horrific, yet beautiful form of rebellion and Eddie couldn’t fucking believe it was happening. He looked briefly over to Bill and saw a look of wonder, almost awe blossom over his face.</p><p>     Kinglier was less impressed.</p><p>     “Ain’t funny Tozier!”</p><p>     The Sym snorted, slowly falling down onto his hands and knees. He couldn’t seem stand without assistance, struggling under his own weight but still cackling all the way down.</p><p>     Kinglier looked about ready to strangle him. Eddie could barely contain the urge to run and help him.</p><p>     “Tell ‘em your nickname. Tell ‘em what people started calling ya!”</p><p>     Panting and looking extraordinarily pleased with himself the Sym beamed in Kinglier’s general direction.”</p><p>     “Trashmouth, Trashmouth Tozier.”</p><p>     “Trashmouth Tozier.”</p><p>      Kinglier repeated slowly. He cast eyes to the ceiling in a way that seemed to ask God why he was being tested. Shaking this off the old man held up his hand, thumb still extended, and made a great show of tucking it in against his palm.</p><p>      “Three. Aside from his unit model and his shit-mouth, pardon my language, Tozier had a memory wipe sometime before I bought him in at auction. He don’t have a buyer history beyond me and the house I got him from so you're taking him as is. No prior maintenance updates.”</p><p>     This finally shut down Tozier’s giggling. He just sat, long pale legs dangling over the side of the now open tube and squinted at the floor. Eddie noted his rounded shoulders, his terrible posture and the subdued dark, grey mist that seemed to settle over his emotional state.</p><p>      Kinglier turned the hand he had used to count over and pointed directly at Bill giving him a very severe stare.</p><p>     “Knowing all that, here and now, you still want to buy him?”</p><p>     Swallowing a breath Eddie watched Bill eagerly. The man, who always seemed giant to Eddie, looked larger than life right now. He stood directly in front of the defective Sym, arms crossed, assessing him.</p><p>     Tozier didn’t even look at him, his mouth in a straight line. Now that he was out of the tube, unobscured by synthetic glass, Eddie could see little dots of light covering his skin liked freckles. The pinpricks of his internal workings on display in all their strange, obscene glory. At the moment they were blue, just like the tube.</p><p>      “I just have one question. Does he have another name? I know most models have a construct name and a first name for their model line. How about him?”</p><p>      “oh-er,”</p><p>    Kinglier looked at his pad with a frown.</p><p>      “Richard.”</p><p>     The Sympathetic coughed, not too subtly, and shook his head.</p><p>      “Richie.”</p><p>    He corrected, averting his eyes from Bill. Kinglier just snorted, ignoring the “Richie” entirely. He gestured with his info-pad.</p><p>      “Come back to the front, we’ll get your paperwork and the payment squared away. I’ll need to see ownership credentials. I got your qualification paperwork already so it shouldn’t take long, I’ll have one of my people wrap him up for you.”</p><p>     Laughing hoarsely at his own joke Kinglier didn’t wait to see if he was being followed. Eddie was already grabbing at Bill’s arm, reluctant to leave Tozier, Richie, alone. He exchanged a wordless conversation with his friend, nodding towards the Sympathetic and raising an eyebrow; we can’t leave him here.</p><p>     Big Bill, as expected, got what Eddie was broadcasting loud and clear. He hummed thoughtfully and addressed the Sym directly, voice loud and clear. Well, Eddie thought, clear as he could make it.</p><p>     “H-Hey-Cuh-can you wuh-walk on your own?”</p><p>     Letting go of Bill’s arm Eddie stared expectantly at the Sym. He hadn’t raised his head, hadn’t looked at them; not that it would have mattered really if his squinting was much to go by.</p><p>     “I, I dunno man, it's been awhile since I-”</p><p>      “Hey!”</p><p>       Kinglier barked.</p><p>      “You call him Sir or Master from now on, you know the drill Tozier-001.”</p><p>      Eddie sucked in a breath so sharp he could almost feel it cut the tip of his tongue. He knew Sympathetics were always treated like this. Sure, intellectually, he knew they were possessions and at the end of the day no matter how much people hated the “S” word that’s what they were, slaves. Human appliances; disposable people.</p><p>      Eddie had heard the way people, including his Mother, spoke about them, sometimes right to their fucking faces. But, seeing the goddamn indignity of it this close set off something hot and volatile in his narrow ribcage. He felt about ready to chew Kinglier out, spit right in his face knowing full well how many germs he was spreading.</p><p>     The only thing that stopped him was Bill’s cool head, as usual, and the return of that gaudy, cotton candy <em>pink</em> feeling the Sym had given off when he had first fallen near his tube. Bill was saying something to the old man, using his best adult voice. Despite his stutter Bill Denborough had the best adult voice of any Loser.</p><p>      “W-Wuh want him tuh-today if p-p-pos-suh-possible.”</p><p>      Kinglier shrugged up one shoulder.</p><p>     “You come in a transport?”</p><p>     “W-we w-walked from s-station on South End, y-yeah.”</p><p>     The old man pursed his thin, pale lips.</p><p>      “I wouldn’t take a Sympathetic that can barely walk out there if I was you. You come up to pay and I give ya a promise we’ll have him shipped so he gets to ya first thing tomorrow. How’s that sound?”</p><p>     Bill sighed and Eddie could see they weren’t going to win this one. He wanted to put a hand on Tozier’s bare shoulder and tell him that really this was the best, he was going to a much better place even if he didn’t know it yet.</p><p>     Instead he just stood there and listened to Bill speak with a heavy sigh.</p><p>       “F-fuh-fine. First thing t-tuh-tuh-tommorrow.”</p><p>      </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yeah. Kinglier is just Stephen King doing his outrageous Maine accent.</p><p>I hope the Reddie community enjoys the first chapter of this. I sure like you guys =)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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